


You and I

by Arzani



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Ficlets, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Modern AU, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2018-11-28 04:41:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11410425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arzani/pseuds/Arzani
Summary: Just some tumblr prompts





	1. car sex

**Author's Note:**

> SilverFlint and "Car sex looks so much easier in the movies"  
> rated M

It was narrow, dark, heady and fucking ridiculous to try and have sex in the backseats of James’ car, and still John could not stop himself from launching for the swollen lips again, seeking them, wanting them, wanting him. His fingers worked the fly and buttons open that trapped James’ hardening cock, and why the hell did he have to wear jeans, for fuck’s sake? The fabric was giving him a head-ache.

“You need help?” James growled into his mouth, stopped the kissing to reach for the hem of John’s shirt. Automatically he straightened to give James space and cursed when he bumped his head on the roof.

“Shit. No, no, I don’t,” he answered frustrated, slipping lower on James’ thighs, while nimble hands worked the fabric over his head. He had to contort his arms to make it happen. What the fuck?

The thought was forgotten, when his left nipple was engulfed in the wet heath of James’ mouth, the lips sucking expertly over the sensitive flesh. A moan ripped from his throat and his hand snuck into the red strands in front of him. With a tug, he made James arch his back, and the next moment the mouth was gone.

“The fuck?” was hissed into his chest and John blinked confused, when James tried to turn. It felt like a loss when James reached behind himself with his arm that had just stroked his back. Impatient, needy and a little frustrated that something seemed to be more interesting than him, John reached for James’ chin and turned him back.

“I’m here,” he said and knew he sounded indignant.

“Petulant child,” James replied immediately, but darted for his mouth to bite-kiss into his lower lip. Then he murmured, “Something’s poking into my back.”

“Let me,” John offered, leaning into James’ chest, enjoying the closeness and at the same time wished James would be without his shirt, too. The brush of his fingers over James’ bare neck was deliberate, and made the other shudder – “Little shit!” – then he felt for whatever was disturbing James and therefore them. When he realized it was the safety belt, John couldn’t contain himself and started to laugh, loud, uncontained shudders vibrating his body.

“Fuck! This is so fucking stupid. Can you believe we fail at car sex? It looks so much easier in the movies,” he managed to get out between his fits of laughter. Somewhere in between he realized James’ incredulous stare, the green eyes turning from bemused to amused, until he was joining in the laughter. Strong arms wrapped around John’s back, pulled him towards James’ broad chest and let him rest there. James’ chin landed on top of John’s dark, tousled locks.

“What can I say, I’d prefer a bed anytime over this, but we have to deal with what’s at hand and I want you” James’ voice slid over him like silk, making John moan. There was an intensity in his words that never failed to arouse him. The hands drawing circles in his skin did the rest.

Looking up, John met James’ gaze. He knew of the haze in his own one, of the dark arousal shimmering underneath the blue of his iris. He wanted James as well. Completely, whole, everything of the man, every part he was willing to give.

They were fucking for three months now, mostly meeting in James’ apartment, because it was way more comfortable than John’s flat, with his two flatmates mostly around. Also Miranda, James’ flatmate and ex-lover, had encouraged their… whatever it was, so she didn’t mind them. But today she had announced she would have company. Hence the tryst in the car.

“Let us go to my place,” John mumbled, finally. Warmth flushed into his cheeks when he saw James’ expression turn surprised, eyebrow rising up, the edge of his mouth twitching slightly. But he didn’t let go of John and he didn’t stop the movements of his fingers, which John counted as a good sign.

“Didn’t you say Max and Idelle were at home?” he asked and John sighed, letting his head fall to James’ chest.

“Yes,” he said lowly, and willed his erection down. Somehow he doubted they would manage to succeed in their coupling today. “I don’t… exactly care?”

It was still and the second passed by torturously slow. So this was it, the moment James would tell him that their fucking was enjoyable, but he didn’t really want to be seen with him in public. John could even understand, with his prosthesis for a leg and unsuccessful lifestyle.

“You sure?”

The words, so carefully spoken, like they could break something, startled John out of his reverie and he just had to look up, back into James’ face. The openness he saw surprised him. Yet, self-doubts were clingy things.

“Not if you keep asking,” John answered meekly, which made James chuckle. It was a nice feeling how James played with his curls, the familiarity of the gesture what gave him enough comfort to keep on speaking. “I’m not ashamed of you or some similar bullshit. I just always believed you didn’t… well, want to be seen dating someone almost ten years younger than you.”

James’ hands stopped, and a cold shudder ran down John’s spine. Ice lay over his heart, the loss so immediate no matter he was still so close to James’ body heat. Then, though, he had two calloused hands on his face, and his mouth was crashed together with James’.

The kiss was like a lightning-bolt, forceful and electrifying. Every hair on his skin stood with anticipation and the erection he had willed down just mere moments before came rushing back. Moaning into the kiss, John couldn’t stop thrusting his hips into James, seeking friction so desperately.

“Stop you fool,” James panted, once they separated again, “or we’ll never make it to your flat.”

His eyes crinkled with joy, when he pushed John away and John stared at him.

“Seriously. Like, you mean you want to come to me, be seen with me?” he asked and tried to tamper down the excitement, only it was impossible. It must be audible in his voice, because James rolled his eyes, before he cracked a smirk.

“Only if we never try car sex again. The actors in the movies can bump their heads all they want, but I want to devour you properly. And the world can very well know that,” he grinned, and seriously, John would not object in the slightest.


	2. I wish I could hate you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James never quite succeeded in hating Silver

Exhausted from work and in hope to make the complete blue wall disappear, James rubbed his eyes tiredly. The wall, however, stayed blue, even after opening his lids again and he sighed. Then he pushed the shoes from his feet, tiptoed around the pots of paint, brushes and occasional splatters of undried – was that really paint there on the old newspaper? – to make his way to find his husband. Which wasn’t too hard, he just had to follow the off-tune singing into the kitchen.

For a while he just enjoyed the sight of John swaying his hips to the music that blared out of the tiny radio. Admitting his husband had a hot ass had never been a problem for him, and no matter it almost vanished in the too big, old jeans, his mind knew enough of it to make the mental image up. A few strands had slipped out of John’s sloppy bun and curled over his white shirt. All of his clothes were littered with blue paint.

“You know,” James started, his voice a mix of annoyance and amusement, “if I hated you – and sometimes I wish I could hate you – I’d just demand for you to repaint our hallway wall white again. As it is that I love you instead, I’d rather ask what you had in mind painting it blue?”

The words had stopped John’s movement and he turned, a bright grin on his face and a cooking spoon in hand. The wooden spoon dripped with what must be their dinner, but before John could make an even greater mess he placed it back into the pot he was stirring at. Then he turned back to James, closing the distance with a few precise steps into his personal space. Sighing, James placed his arms around his husband’s narrow waist.

“Have you ever considered, that white walls are rather boring?” John murmured, before he pressed a small peck on James’ lip. Before he could reciprocate, John had drawn away. But his fine scent of spices, coconut and something James had never been able to cipher, but was unmistakable John, lingered.

“What is wrong with white walls?” James asked and John shrugged. His muscles rippled under his shirt, and James pressed him just a little bit closer. Unconsciously of course. He’d never been good at fighting his physical needs. Especially not when it came to this temptation in front of him.

“They’re white?” John said, nonchalant and with a tiny smirk, “and boring.”

“That’s what paintings are there for, love. To make them less white and less boring.”

James was rather proud of his collection of naval paintings, all still securely stored in one of the many boxes that lay around. But after only two days in a new home he couldn’t expect any different. It was worth, to finally live with John under one roof.

No more searching for clothes that were in the wrong house, no more partings at the front door, no more sleeping alone. John had finally been able to change jobs, which allowed them to move in together. James’ old flat had been rather small, so here they were. A new start, a new home, the old little shit that astonished him every day anew.

“Save them for the other rooms,” John grinned, and moved out of James’ arms back to the hearth. His hips swayed with the music, again, leaving a sudden ache in James’ chest. He missed the man in his arms already and John was just a few steps again. “The hallway wall will be one huge painting.”

It took a moment to process the words, then James’ jaw dropped, until he formed a grin. John usually didn’t draw in his free time, as it was his job, and every exception was a gift. Driven by that knowledge, James wrapped his arms around John’s slender frame from behind and placed his chin on John’s shoulder.

“Thank you,” he murmured, and then added, “That calls for a reward.”

His answer came in form of John’s ass rubbing against his crotch. Turning his head, he looked into James’ eyes. Mesmerized by the staking blue eyes and distracted by the arousing touch, he had to concentrate to understand the words.

“I’ve unpacked the ropes earlier,” John grinned. The rest of James’ blood rushed south with the words and the only reply he could muster was to kiss his husband hungrily. He was quite glad hating John McGraw had never worked, or else James would never have this.


	3. your lips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> J0hnsilver wished for "staring at the other’s lips, trying not to kiss them, before giving in"  
> there you go darling <3

It wasn’t the way James ate his dessert. Or the way he licked his lips after, to get the small speck of chocolate sauce that hung in the corner of his mouth. It also wasn’t the spoon he licked clean, because Eleanor really did make some wonderful desserts – chocolate brownies filled with raspberries and whipped cream, topped with chocolate sauce.

In fact, it was none of these things. None of all those stupid tips about how to get someone to kiss you, that John had read in some of the magazines Max and Idelle, his flatmates, kept. None left him staring at James’ lips hungrily, like he did now.

But the memory of how those lips felt on his. The feeling of warmth that spread through his belly, the moment they connected. Butterflies dancing in his belly, leaving a whirlwind of his emotions, just because of a small peck.

A kiss from James was warm, filled with love and stirred something old and deep in John. Something once known, but almost forgotten. Something that was very close to love.

As if on cue, James glanced at his direction and gave him a smile. A wonderful, open smile that made his eyes sparkle and his face look soft.

Who was he kidding other than himself? John was in love and he knew. He knew because he kept on looking at James’ face and into his eyes, but god, at his mouth as well. Kissing these lips was marvelous and he wanted to.

Too bad they were at Eleanor’s birthday party and Eleanor was one of James’ friends and none of their friends knew about their relationship. The right time hadn’t come yet to tell them. Mostly because people had long stopped pressing James about moving on. From Thomas, but also from a former life. They just assumed he was about to cling to the past forever.

He nearly had. John knew, though, that he was the reason it had changed.

No one even assumed, John had things to move from, too. But he had, just like James. They had stepped out of the darkness of their pasts together.

He wanted to kiss James so desperately. Here. In the middle of this party. In front of all their friends. To really quiet his past, to move into the present. James laughed, his lips stretched into a grin, covered only slightly by the neatly trimmed beard.

“You know,” a voice said next to him and John startled, tilting his head, looking into the soft brown eyes of Miranda. She was James’ longest friend and Thomas’ widow. James’ lover, too, to be precise, though both knew their desire for each other had lessened over the years. She was more a friend to James than a lover, and both James and John knew it was what counted. “No one here would judge you. You’re free to be happy and share your happiness. I don’t think he minds and if I have to watch you any longer torturing yourself, I’ll kiss him for you.”

John huffed, but something warm spread in his chest. Miranda’s judgement was always spot on and he knew she was right. The little push into the right direction helped, though and he stood. “Between you and I, dear, I don’t think he'd minds,” he stated before walking over.

Turning from Miranda to James, John caught his lover’s gaze. He held it. With each step towards him his smile grew and his surroundings faded into the background. Everyone was just a blur. Until John couldn’t care less what anyone would think, becuse he stood between James’ legs and looked down at him where he sat.

With James arms around his torso and his head tilted upwards towards John, John’s gaze flickered to James’ lips again. This time though, he followed his instinct and claimed them. Drowning happily in the push and pull of James’ reciprocation. They tasted sweet, from the dessert, but also from the love he was granted to show. It was a marvelous feeling and his heart beat against his ribcage, a wild bird fluttering, just about to be set free.

“I love you,” John mumbled against the lips, when they let go, and James smiled. Smiled and smiled, ignoring all the stares.

“I love you, too,” James replied with a murmur himself. His gaze flickered to the side and then he chuckled. John had to follow James’ gaze and couldn’t contain himself when he saw Eleanor with her mouth open, Jack flopping down onto the arm chair and Miranda smirking. “I think we broke them.”

“Let us break them a little more,” John said, his wits back and his heart free of all confines. Then he kissed James again. Because, no matter what, looking at him was still what John preferred to do.


	4. “Before I do this, I need you to know that I have always loved you.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ModernAU in which Flint is a cop and Silver is worried.  
> Requested by Snowdany. I hope you like it, because this got a little out of hand with over 3000 words.

„I don’t care if it’s just a graze. I don’t care if you’re telling me it doesn’t hurt and that I shouldn’t worry, because I do! I DO! I do every single time and still, you walk straight back into the fucking lion’s den. I’m sick of it, James! I’m sick of worrying, I can’t cope with it anymore. I can’t… I just can’t.”

What had started as just a raised voice had turned into a frenzy of screaming. James’ heart clenched at the sight of John shouting at him, each word another slap, poisoned with guilt. With his black curls flying around his face, as he shook of distress, and clenched fists, his husband looked almost as if he was going insane. Maybe he was and James couldn’t blame him. He knew that his job was dangerous, every cop lived with danger constantly lurking around the corner. But a part of him, James knew, couldn’t give it up. It was a constant nagging that told him he’d be less without the fight. That the victims had been too severe, too great, to give up now.

Cautious steps moved him closer to John and he wrapped his hands around his husbands’ ones. Held them softly, but firmly, to try and be an anchor. James wished he could embrace John, but the way he was looked at, James knew right now John wouldn’t let him.

“It was at training, John, a ricochet gone wrong. It’s why we do have to attend training lessons, so it won’t happen in a real operation,” James tried to sooth the shivering mess in front of him. It didn’t work. Instead of calming down, John stepped back and ripped his hands out of James’ grasp. The blue in his eyes sparkled with unshed tears and he bit his lips, when his gaze wandered over the bandage around James’ head. It looked worse than it was, but that wasn’t a thing for James to say out loud, as well. Not now.

“Training?! No one should be harmed in a training lesson! It’s not reassuring, it’s not,” John keened, his chest heaving with sucked in pants.

“I know -,” James tried to argue but John cut him off.

“No, you don’t know! You always tell me you understand but you don’t! You keep fighting and for what sake? For the sake of fighting. If you understood, you’d stop.”

The words rung in James’ ears and suddenly John’s voice was layered with Miranda’s. Even though it was years ago, he still could hear how she accused him of the very same thing. To keep fighting for the sake of fighting… and where had it gotten him? Her? She was dead, shot by who they believed was a friend, by someone who they believed could help them find the murderers of Thomas.

Thomas, who had tried to change the country by getting a law through court that would allow minorities in prison to have solitary confinement to keep them from being beaten up every day for either being homosexual, or black, or whatever provoked violence these days, and help them with settling back into society after their sentence was finished. It never had come to it, because some gang leaders had shot him on open street. By now James knew it had been an assassination arranged by Thomas’ father Alfred Hamilton, and even though Alfred Hamilton rotted in prison (and not in fucking solitary confinement) James still felt helpless. He hadn’t been able to stop it, any of it, and only meeting John had prevented him from committing suicide after Miranda’s death.

He loved John, more than he could put in words. The man was everything to him, even though their start had been, well rough. Yet, he had fallen for him, and now James couldn’t imagine his life without John by his side. Whenever he came home he was allowed to look into John’s crystal clear blue eyes shining with adoration. Sleeping next to him kept the nightmares at bay and kissing his soft lips was like breathing.

A part of James had kept going to avenge Thomas’ death, but as he looked at John now, he realized he was still a cop because of him. John had come from an abusive family, had been surrounded by violence, drugs and darkness. That he’d not succumbed to it was a miracle, and James wanted to keep it that way. He wanted to protect him, like he hadn’t been able to protect Thomas. The world was full of darkness, but if James could make it a little brighter with his work, for John, he’d do it.

Yet, to tell him this was not the right time either.

Sighing, James closed his eyes for a moment. He was tired, exhausted of this fight, that went on between them for what seemed like ages. John wanted him to retire and James couldn’t. But his walls crumbled under the constant onslaught of arguments, and he was getting old. He felt old, certainly. Maybe he should consider it. Maybe he should quit. But not today.

He opened his eyes again and sat down on one of the stools surrounding their dining table. His day had been long, he was forming a headache and he was tired of fighting. All he wanted to, was to snuggle up with his husband and enjoy the evening, “Listen John, I’m sorry you worry about me. I lo-,” James said wearily, but declaring his love seemed to be the wrong move, because again he was cut off.

“Don’t you dare… don’t you dare say it now,” John threatened and his voice wavered. It wavered so much, the anger spilling over in a way that revealed more about his fear and worry than any word could ever convey. But before James could process it, the whole amount of anxiety that must have built up over weeks and months, and react, John had turned on his heels.

The time James needed to stand up had been enough for John to move to the hallway and reach for his shoes. Tears sparkled in the corners of his eyes when he looked up. James stood in the doorway, unable to say anything.

“I need… you… I just need air,” John whispered with a stricken voice and no matter James didn’t understand it, he accepted it. When the door clicked shut, the silence was too loud. Staring at the polished wood of their front door, James bit his lips and tried to keep the overwhelming feelings at bay.

He knew John worried about him. How could he not, when James risked his life on a daily basis? But the amount of fear he must feel, to force him to such a drastic manner, had went past James. Was his job really worth risking his marriage?

No answer came to him. Instead everything in his head swirled.

* * *

The call came several hours later and by now the clock showed it was almost midnight. Over the argument James had almost forgotten about the drug dealers they were working on. It was a big fish, and Eleanor Guthrie, his young and eager boss, had found an opening in their shipping schedule, apparently tonight. They would storm the hideout, get the gang into prison and confiscate the drugs. If everything went according to plan not one bullet was about to be shot. James doubted all went according to plan. It never did.

He was standing in his bedroom, John and his bedroom to be more accurate, and for the umptieth time James checked the watch, just to shake his head and focus on the task at hand. No sound was audible. No clicking of a key opening the front door. No heavy steps, no mumbling, no cursing. God, James would even take drunken shouting to replace this maddening silence. Where was John? He couldn’t do this without him.

But the house remained empty and James keep on unwrapping the bandage around his head. By now the wound had closed. A red streak spoke of what had happened, but James’ reflection in the mirror showed he had been right. It had looked worse than it was. Not that any of this was reassuring now. What he was about to do, where he was about to go, it was dangerous. A fight was not what he wanted John to have as a last memory, if something was about to go wrong.

Resigning seemed more and more tempting with each passing second. John was right. As James kept looking at his reflection and saw the exhaustion written in his face, he realized John was right. Gray shimmered in the red of his hair and beard, wrinkles surrounded his eyes and mouth, and he looked downright tired. It was time to resign and he would…

A click made James’ heart jump and he rushed to the front door. Instead of throwing his arms around John, though, he stopped in the doorframe again. Sweeping John with his eyes, he took in the tousled state of his hair, the blue of his lips and his shivers. It wasn’t autumn yet, but summer had passed and it wasn’t warm outside anymore. John hadn’t taken a jacket and James got cold by just looking at him.

Biting his lips, he searched for John’s gaze, who had raked his eyes over his appearance just as James had. It was obvious were James would go, with his shirt bulging slightly over his bulletproof vest and the holster on display over his waist.

“It’s tonight,” John said flatly and the lack of emotion in his voice made James’ shudder. It was the last straw he had needed. The very last push to make him realize things had to change. So he stepped forward and clasped John’s hand in his. It was freezing, but he intertwined their fingers nonetheless. Maybe it could warm him, the love of his life. Maybe his words could.

“Listen, John,” James murmured and felt the lump in his throat more than ever. Gulping, he cleared his throat, to make his voice steady. “I know you are mad at me, and you have any right. I am sorry for what worry I made you go through every time I head into a dangerous operation. And I am sorry that I will make you worry for another, last time. I can’t leave now, I can’t let the team go in there without me. I prepared this operation, I’m the one with the most intel and I won’t risk my team’s lives… and I know you understand it. But before I do this, I need you to know that I have always loved you. My love for you… your love for me, it’s a gift and I wanted to make your world better. There is so much darkness from where you come from. I know, despite the inability of you telling me about your past. It’s enough for me to have you by my side, and it was enough for me to want to protect you from it.”

He took a break, and clutched John’s hand a little tighter. They shivered, by now both of them did, and James could see how John’s eyes had widened. No tears flowed, but the way his lips quivered was telling enough.

“But I realized what I need to protect is us. I love you and I promise you, first thing I’ll do after this is over, is to go to Eleanor and tell her I quit.”

Next thing James realized was how John drew himself into his arms. Hugging him, James breathed in the faint smell of coconut from the oil John used on his unruly hair. It smelled like home and something in his heart settled.

“Promise me,” John mumbled against his chest. A faint smile stretched on James’ face as he pressed John a little tighter to himself, to feel him through his bulletproof vest. He needed the soothing warmth of John’s body heat on his skin, to go out there tonight.

“I promise,” he said and it was the truth. Someone else could save the world. James had enough of it.

* * *

It was past midnight and John knew it would be hours before James would be back home. He had been told to go to bed, and when he woke up James would be sleeping next to him. Yet, he was too agitated to go to sleep, the confession still reverberating in his ears.

James would quit. He would finally quit and stop risking his life. It was such a reassurance to know it was the last time John had to worry about his husband. When they had married, John had promised to cherish and protect James, to stay by his side and be there for him. Every time James went to an operation as he was doing now, John felt like failing his vows.

When he had gotten to know James, the man had been on a constant verge of death, either by risking too much in his job or by taking an overdose of medication. It had changed and John knew he was the reason it had changed. Their friends and colleagues knew about James’ past, his loss and the overcoming of it, but little knew of John’s own darkness. About the anxiety, the nightmares and his fears.

John had never had anything until he had met James, and while pulling his husband out of the darkness, he had pulled himself out, too. Or, well, James had pulled him out. They had pulled themselves out together. The thought alone to lose James was unbearable to John.

But it was over. No more storming warehouses, or gangs, or seeking out murderers. No more risky stunts, no more working as an officer. They could lead a… well maybe not normal but at least safer life.

John decided to celebrate it. Buy a bottle of champagne tomorrow, maybe even take his husband out. Take James to bed for sure. Use those handcuffs for something else than locking up criminals.

With a yawn and a smile John pushed the book he had tried and failed to read away. Actually, he had wanted to stay awake, but he realized his eyelids were dropping. Good he was already in bed, so it didn’t take much effort to turn off the bedside lamp and sleep…

 … he jumped awake when his phone rung. Blinking blearily, he reached for it and checked the time. It was a little past four thirty and he wondered who the fuck had the decency to call in the middle of the night. Then his eyes darted to the caller’s name and his heart stopped.

For a moment, he tried to convince himself that it was a dream, but the phone didn’t stop ringing and the name wasn’t vanishing. Eleanor Guthrie was calling, which only could mean one thing…

He turned his bedside lamp on and accepted the call.

“He’s alive!”

The usually business-like voice sounded strained and exhausted, yet, there was nothing else John had wanted to hear from the woman, he only ever had met on Christmas parties of James’ department. A heavy weight dropped from his shoulders and he sucked in a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. A silent tear slid down his face.

“John?” the voice asked, when no answer came and finally John realized he should speak, to announce he was even on the phone.

“Yes, yes, I’m here,” he answered and he could hear Eleanor Guthrie’s heavy breath through the line.

“Good. Listen, a shot hit James’ shoulder, but he’s alive and in hospital. They didn’t want to tell me too much, because I’m just his boss and no relative, but I told them you would come and I convinced them that the hour doesn’t matter. So, pack some stuff and get a taxi to the Central Hospital. We’ll cover all costs.”

“I’m already on my way,” John replied and pushed himself out of bed. The spare light of his bedside lamp wasn’t much, but it was enough to take in the room and find the traveling bag he always used for business trips. While he made up his mind what James would need, he only partly listened to Eleanor telling him she would visit tomorrow morning, and ended the call.

Half an hour later he was closing the door of the taxi that was taking him to his husband.

* * *

“Finally,” James sighed, when the doctor left the room. The explanations how to treat his shoulder had taken forever, or so it had felt. As if James didn’t know how to take care of a bullet wound. It wasn’t his first, though he hoped it would remain his last. His decision to quit had only heightened in the light of last night’s events.

Fingers snipped against his temple and James tilted his head, looking into his husband’s bright blue eyes, who regarded him with raised eyebrows.

“What?” he asked defensifly and John rolled his eyes.

“Have you even listened to what the doctor had to say?” he asked James, who shrugged his shoulders, only to wince. What a stupid idea to do so when a member of a drug gang had shot you just hours ago. “You haven’t.”

“I have listened,” James defended himself but faltered under the look he was given. “in the beginning.”

“You’re unbelievable,” John said indignantly, but the amount of relief in his tone was hard to miss. The last night had been one hell of a ride for both, especially as John had arrived just when James had returned from surgery. In his defense, no one looked good coming straight from the operation room, not even James. Especially not him. Yet the open worry on John’s face and the way he refused to let go of James’ hand had reassured him doing the right thing to resign. All he had left to do was tell Eleanor.

As if the woman had read his mind, the door opened to reveal a head of blonde hair peeking in. She even knocked against the door frame, no matter she was almost inside.

“Can I come in? I just met your doctor outside,” she said and James nodded in confirmation. A faint shot of pain rushed through him and he cursed his luck. The wound would give him trouble for at least another few weeks. Of course, this had to happen on his last mission.

“How do you feel?” Eleanor wanted to know, walking in and sitting herself on the free stool. John sat on the bed next to James.

“Like someone shot in the shoulder, I guess,” James answered, his tone a mix of sarcasm and amusement. Most people didn’t get his humor, but John next to him snorted, covering it in a cough. He’d probably enjoyed the joke, if it didn’t ring too much to the truth. James squeezed his hand, knowing he had a lot to make up for.

“Very funny, Officer McGraw,” Eleanor said flatly and shifted slightly. “The doctor said I can’t expect you back for the next six weeks or so, but the operation was a success, so I guess-“

Out of the corner of his eyes James saw John’s mouth open to say something, but before his husband could, he stopped him by shaking his head slightly. Pressing himself away from the headboard he was leaning against, James caught Eleanor’s attention, who stopped in the middle of her sentence.

“Miss Guthrie, I won’t come back.”

“What do you mean, you won’t come back?”

The surprise was genuine in Eleanor’s voice, but it was John’s smile that made James continue speaking. It was like a torchlight in the night and James realized John had not quite believed James would resign until now. Squeezing his fingers, he added, “I quit. I’m too old to get shot and I have worried John enough. Once I can write again, you’ll find my letter of resignation on your table.”

Silence stretched between them, before Eleanor stood back up from her stool and smoothed out her shirt over her jeans. She was dressed in plain clothes. Like always she preferred practicability over femininity, as she preferred actions over words, much to her father’s chagrin. James hoped she understood, and waited, mortified, for her reaction.

Yet, all that came was a nod. “I see. I won’t lie, I’m surprised and I’m not happy, you’re my best officer after all, but I guess I understand.”

“Thank you, Miss Guthrie,” James replied, relieved his boss, or well, ex-boss now, wasn’t making a fuss. It made his decision easier. Not that it would have changed anything should Eleanor have disagreed, but it was appreciated, that she understood. James had always respected her.

She nodded again, and said her good-byes. “Get better soon, James. John.”

With those words, she left the room and the moment the door closed, John’s head sunk down into James’ lap. Slipping his fingers into John’s curls he softly played with them.

“Are you okay?” he asked, a little worried, as he couldn’t see John’s face. But the small yet bubbling laughter reassured him.

“Yes. Yes, I am,” John said and James believed him. Things were okay. He had a wounded shoulder and just given up his job, but for the first time in his life, James knew with all his heart that things were going to be okay.


	5. You wanna stop and feel the rain?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loose continuation of Chapter 2, in which Silver is an artist. ModernAU
> 
> prompt was SilverFlint and “We’re in the middle of a thunderstorm and you wanna stop and feel the rain?”

Rain splattered against the windows of the car and the headlights barely managed to illuminate the night. The street looked like one big tapestry of rain. Only the occasional flash of lightnings brightened up the surrounding in an eerie way. The following thunder was muffled through the splashing and the car engine. James was glad to finally be home when he pulled into their house’s driveway.

Silence stretched between them when he turned the key and the car went still. Another lightning struck overhead and the thunder surprised James in its volume. Laughing lightly to shake the feeling he looked sideways to John, taking in the form of his husband. All the way back to their home he had been irritatingly quiet. Yet, James blamed it on the late hour and the busy evening.

They had been attending a banquet given by one of John’s new costumers from his agency. It was about a year ago that they had moved together – finally – and John had changed his job. The graphic design agency John now worked in was bigger than his old one, and their clients were more of the industrial type. Big names, more money, more work and occasional invitations to galas and dinner parties, and the sorts. Not that James could always spot the difference between one gathering and the other. He didn’t particularly cared, either. John was still the same, still his happy, cheerful sometimes quite chaotic husband who he loved dearly. It was all that mattered to him.

They were married for three years now, knew each other for five and James’ feelings had only ever grown stronger for the man he had met as an art student back in his last year.

“You’re alright?” James asked while watching the lines of his husband’s face. The long, dark curls, currently kept together in a bun, were his strongest feature. Blue sparkling eyes shone like gems, even in the dark and his mouth was full and tempted to be kissed. James was lucky to not only have the smartest and wittiest husband, but also the most beautiful one.

“Yeah, just tired,” John answered after a short moment of consideration and then nodded his head towards the door. They would be soaked, no matter the short distance to their front door. “Let’s get inside.”

Out of pure instinct James leaned over the console to catch John’s mouth with his. It was a short kiss, but it conveyed all the love he felt for his husband. As they parted he stroke his fingers over John’s mustache and chin, caressing him. “I love you,” he breathed and then moved to get out of the car and into the house. Maybe if he ran, he’d not get too wet.

The door closed shut and he lifted his arms over his head, until he stood under the protecting roof over their front door. Only then James turned to see John standing in the middle between the car and the door, getting wetter and wetter by the minute, looking utterly lost. Something inside James cracked at the sight.

Sighing, he locked the car with his key, and as the headlights blinked to indicate it had worked, James walked straight back into the rain. He felt the water splash on his face and hair, felt the dampness creep under his clothes and onto his skin, but he didn’t really notice it. What he concentrated on was the gaze John was giving him and the way his lip trembled. The rain hindered James from recognizing whether he was crying and he realized it was John’s attempt at hiding his tears.

Only a few steps were needed to stand in front of John and James took his face between his hands, to crash their lips in a kiss that was bordering on painful. Scratching his teeth over John’s lips, he let the man feel he was there, that he wasn’t alone, that he was loved. It was what John needed, James knew. Being together for five years had sensitized James to John’s needs and insecurities. Sometimes his fear of being too small to matter overwhelmed him. By now James was good in convincing him it wasn’t the case.

John swayed into his chest when they let go, his hands clutching at his dinner jacket. Their suits would be ruined and part of James felt an odd satisfaction about it. None of them were the suit-and-tie-kind of type, anyway.

Holding John, he waited for a reaction and when one came, James almost snorted.

“I just wanted to feel the rain.”

The excuse was neither needed nor especially convincing, so James pushed John a little away to be able to raise an eyebrow at his stupid, loveable idiot of a husband. “We’re in the middle of a thunderstorm and you wanna stop and feel the rain? Love, what really is it?”

“I…,” John started, but James realized the lie before he heard it. John was good at deflecting and hiding his feelings, but James was having none of it. One stern look was enough to silence John’s attempt of assuring he was ‘fine’. Not even the dark could betray the dangerous sparkle of James’ green eyes.

Looking up and away, John wiped water out of his face, before he returned his eyes at James’ face. His fingers tugged at the shirt that peeked out under the sleeves of his jacket. A sense of understanding started to blossom in James’ chest at the sight and it grew with every of John’s words.

“That’s not me. Look at me, I look…,” John said and paused, searching for the right word, “… ridiculous.”

James half wanted to interrupt because even though neither of them was usually wearing suits, John looked everything but ridiculous. In fact, James had worked hard to keep his jealousy in check over the span of the evening. While John had been busy talking with important people, James had had time to see all kinds of appreciative and even hungry glances sweep over the form of his husband. John looked amazing, and only knowing that he was his had kept James from leaping at more than one throat, making a fool out of himself. He could be a possessive bastard sometimes.

But for the sake of hearing what really bothered John, James refrained from telling him that. At least for now.

“That’s not who I am,” John said and gulped visibly. His gaze held James’, now, transferring the truth of what he said. “I loved moving in with you. I love this town, the people. I love you and I don’t regret any of it. But this job…”

James understood. Oh, how well he suddenly understood, and no matter John wasn’t aware of it, yet, James had already accepted whatever was about to come.

“Seeing all the people today made me realize I don’t fit in. Honestly, I knew it beforehand, but it was the last straw. The long hours, the stupidity of making ads for drills or screw drivers. Hell, James, the least boring work is to make another flyer for cars. I talked about old-age insurance five times today! _Five times!”_

The incredulousness in John’s voice made James chuckle and he intertwined the fingers of his right hand with John’s, lining up their wedding bands. Lifting their joined hands, he stroked water out of John’s eyes.

“Old-age security is important,” he teased and elicited a huff from his husband. Leaning in closer, James whispered, “Quit.”

Under his fingers and so close to him, James could feel John tense, before he released a heavy breath. In the dim light of the lamp installed on their front door, John’s eyes seemed wide and almost white. “I… don’t know,” he admitted.

“Why not? You’re talented, the letter of recommendation from Blue Dot -” Which was his old agency, “- is perfect. John, you’ll find something else.”

James was adamant to not let John suffer any longer. It affected him, James realized now, and he was having none of it.

John didn’t answer immediately and in the meantime James realized the rain had lessened. They were dripping wet, nothing could change that other than another set of clothes and a dryer, maybe, but it was good to not have to blink constantly. Out of reflex James reached for John’s hairband and loosened it. The wet, heavy locks framed his face, dripping mercilessly. It was a sight to behold, especially when John drove a hand through them.

“I don’t want to find something else,” he admitted eventually and James blinked, surprised. “I want to draw.”

The revelation shouldn’t come as much of a surprise as it did, and in consideration it didn’t. The blue wall painting in their hallway came to James’ mind, showing a swirl of waves and water, the ocean and a sole ship amidst water. It had been a present of John, to him, who loved the sea. To finish it had taken John almost four months, because he had to work in between his regular working hours. Sometimes James had found John in the middle of the night or in the early morning hours, brush in hand and paint on his body. A sight James would always find intoxicating.

Remembering the glint in John’s eyes and the smile on his face while drawing, James realized what he should have seen earlier. John was happiest when he could forget himself in his art, and his current job wasn’t allowing it. It was time for a change.

Smiling, James brushed his thump over John’s mouth and felt the lips pressing a kiss to its tip. “If you want to draw, you should,” he said and grinned when he saw John’s eyes widen in astonishment. His free hand wandered to John’s waist to press their soaked bodies closer. Sharing water wasn’t making a difference anymore anyway.

“Really? You’re not mad at me?”

The words caught James off guard. “Why?” he asked, puzzled and John gripped their joined hands tighter. Smiling a small, admiring smile.

“It’s so _you_ to ask that,” John mused silently, shaking his head and his wet locks swung with the movement. “It will change things. There will be times I will be engrossed in work. Weekends spend in front of a painting. Frustrated yelling at brushes and canvases and paint. We won’t have as much money as before. I don’t know if people want to buy what I’ll draw and to find costumers asking for commissions is hard. I don’t even know where to paint, to be honest…”

“But you want to?” James asked, the concerns noted but silently finding a solution for every one of them. Because finding solutions was what he was good at. After all it he made a living with it.

“Yes,” John admitted and his gaze was reverent, longing. James suddenly knew he would force John to quit his job, if he wasn’t doing it by himself. The man was good at standing between him and his own happiness sometimes.

“Then we’ll make it work. I own enough for both of us in times of a stretch. Though, I doubt you’ll have to worry about selling your art. You _are_ talented John, I have first-hand proof. Just think of all our friends admiring the wall painting. For space, we can turn the office into a studio. I rarely use it anyway. It’s not much, but something until you fin-,” James said but was interrupted effectively when John surged forward and locked their mouths with a kiss. It was forceful and overwhelming and caught James of all his breath. A low moan escaped his throat, but was gulped down by John’s clever lips.

John’s hand had snuck around James’ neck, his fingers tugging lightly at his hair. Now, as they separated John still was mere inches from his mouth, eyes blazed with joy. James’ fingers snuck under the wet fabric of John’s shirt, stroking the cold skin and trying to feel. A smile spread over his face at the revelation that was John, time and time again.

“Thank you, James. Thank you so much!” John whispered against his mouth and the soft breaths made James’ shudder. He should be cold, from the night and the rain, but he wasn’t. Warmth spread through his veins, from his fingertips down to his toes. Still, he realized they should finally get in.

“Your happiness will always be the most important to me, John.” With those words he lifted his hand, to let his wedding band glint in the night. John followed the movement with his eyes, first irritated then fond. “It’s what I promised when you put that ring on my finger.”

Making himself loose, James turned to lead John towards the door. Somewhere in his pocket he fished for his key. With an amused smile, he looked over his shoulder at his husband. “I also promised to protect you and I’m utterly failing my vow when you end up having pneumonia, so you better get inside, into the tub and warm up.”

“Only when you end up in that tub with me,” John answered his order with a request himself. It made James chuckle, who finally opened to door to lead them inside, into the warmth of their home.

“I think I can manage that.”


	6. things you didn't say at all

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No-Modern AU  
> canon compliant  
> Viv asked for: Things you didn't say at all  
> heart-break ahead!

A drop of sweat ran down his neck, sliding over his overheated skin to die on his collarbone. It was hot. Drenching, suffocating hot. Yet, all in him was frozen. From his fingertips to his toes, John felt cold, numb and empty.

Flies buzzed around his head. As if he was already dead. It felt like dying, to watch the man retreat. His eyes followed the broad back, clothed in white. James didn’t have to mourn anymore. He could wear white again. Join the daylight. Leave him, for good. His throat constricted.

It had taken over a week to reach Savannah. One full week in which John had tried to find the right words. To explain why he did what he had done. To explain why it had been necessary. To explain what he felt.

_I love you._

Three simple words. Words he hadn’t said, because his voice had failed him. A man who couldn’t stop talking had lost his voice. Too broken to admit what really had driven him, John felt like he had failed James all over again. He should have said it. Should have told James that his death would have killed him.

_I can’t live without you._

It was too late. James was walking away from him, defeated at his hands. There had been one split moment between them, back on Skeleton Island, when James had lowered his head and accepted his fate, John had wanted to spill it. To lay all his feelings bare before him. Nothing had come out of his mouth.

_You’re well-being is more important than my happiness._

In another life, under different circumstances, John knew, they could have been happy. Maybe even with Thomas by their side. In another place and time there would have been space enough for their love. How John wished he were born under a different star. In a different world. Somewhere where he was free to love.

All that remained, here, now, was James’ retreating frame, the heat of Savannah and his haunting memories that soon would turn to ghosts. Something in him broke, when the gates closed and shut him out. Gone! James was gone and it was his own fault.

Another drop rolled down his cheek, his chin, to drop on his collarbone. Die under the suffocating Savannah sun. This time it was a tear. One tear, and another one. A flood opened to wash him away.

Maybe with two healthy legs, and less pain from the past, he would have been able to stand up from where he sat on this simple wagon, run after him and be able to explain. Crush into the broad back, kiss the freckles on James’ neck and sob into his back that he wouldn’t let him go. That if James needed Thomas to live, John would gladly follow and start to worship this unknown man. Be James’ shadow, even if it meant to not be able to touch, but be close.

With two healthy legs, maybe… but it wasn’t the case. John had lost his ability to chase dreams. All he did was stumble and fall. Another tear fell from his chin, clashed with the dusty ground.

_There is always a way was a lie._

Killing Captain Flint had also meant killing John Silver. Returning James McGraw had also risen Long John Silver. Thankfully, John had lost his ability to tell this particular tale. It meant James McGraw could live the rest of his life in peace, even if John himself couldn’t.


	7. knots and ties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> slightly nsfw, but not really

„Your muscles are in knots. Better let me rub you down,” Flint purred into Silver’s ear, his arms wrapping around his quartermaster’s frame from behind. He could feel Silver’s tense back through his shirt, the ripple of his muscles against his chest as Silver shifted. Every pained groan told Flint he was right with his assumption and yet, what he had in mind was more than just a simple rub-down. To share a bed with Silver had kindled a flame inside him, a long-forgotten ache Flint wanted to stoke into a fire. He burned from inside out without Silver’s skin on his, no matter he had yet to admit it out loud.

Instead of gaining contentment however, Silver harrumphed and wiggled out of Flint’s grip.

“I’d love to take that offer, but if you don’t want to starve during our next hunt you better let me do my job,” Silver replied, after he had turned to face him. Deep furrows clattered his forehead. In an instant Flint’s playful mood dissipated. So much to his seducing skills.

“Get on the bed,” he growled, his mouth a thin line. “You’ve been on your legs for the whole day.”

“Actually, it’s only one leg,” Silver had the nerve to reply, but scurried towards the bed when Flint stared at him angrily. They were in Flint’s hut on Maroon Island, and Silver had just stepped inside. They would set sail tomorrow early in the morning and Flint knew he’d better let Silver watch the crew stock up. It was necessary to keep an eye on them and Silver knew the men, as well as they trusted him. Meanwhile Flint had promised to go over the course again. It was stupid to initiate sex now, but he ached for it and they wouldn’t find time when they were back to hunting.

It was frustrating, but his primal needs unsatisfied were even more frustrating.

His tense stance soothed when Flint watched Silver lay down on his stomach, a quiet hiss escaping his throat. Tension dripped off him like honey from a comb and sex or not, a massage would do him good.

“Get rid of your shirt and peg,” Flint instructed absentmindedly while he searched his bedside drawer for the oil he kept for exactly such occasions. Madi had given it to him when she had learned of Silver and his developing relationship. A surprise but a welcome one, he had to admit. Straddling Silver’s thighs, he dripped some of it on his back and the scent of coconut and a flower Flint couldn’t name filled his nostrils.

“I should be down the beach,” Silver murmured while Flint started to dig his fingers into Silver’s shoulder blades. With his thumps he felt for the knots.

“It doesn’t help anyone when you’re sore.”

Then he added pressure and Silver groaned under him, the sound close to a painful cry.

“Jesus, fuck!” he exclaimed, his back arching, before he fell back into the mattress. The fabric swallowed most of his heavy panting, but Flint could hear his muffled voice well enough. “You know this all is for waste when I’m heading back down.”

“Would you just shut up and let me do this for you!” Flint snapped at the reply and let his hands wander down stubbornly. Whenever he hit a knot Silver would groan and the sounds did nothing to damp the want in him. A part of Flint knew it was a stupid idea, especially as Silver didn’t stop to protest. But with Silver’s bare back tanned in a bronze gleam and his dark locks spilling around his shoulders he was a sight to behold. Flint was just a man and he was hungry for a thing he had just begun to explore.

Yet, the more he grew hard in his breeches, the stiffer Silver seemed to be and not in a way Flint wanted. His pride fighting with his voice of reason, he kept on until his fingers slipped under the hem of Silver’s pants. In an instant Silver exploded under him, jerked and almost threw him onto the ground in an attempt to turn. His glare was murderous, his blue eyes sharp.

“I’d say stop a fucking thousand times,” Silver shouted and shoved Flint off him, so he could get his peg leg. “The men are waiting for our instructions and all you think of is fucking. I can’t believe you.”

With those words he shoved his stump into the leather, his face scrutinized in pain. It only emphasized when he walked out of the hut, his shirt in his hand, carelessly snatched from where he had discarded it. Only when he was out of sight Flint realized what had happened and in a fit of searing frustration and pent up desire he threw a close-by mug against the wall.

What the hell had just happened?

* * *

No matter they saw each other briefly during the day, Flint didn’t find a free minute to talk with Silver. He knew he had fucked up, should have just kept his desire in check but he hadn’t. The monster in him had gotten hold of his body and while it wouldn’t make up anything, Flint wanted to apologize. Yet, he never managed to catch Silver alone, if only for a moment. When night had long fallen over the camp and Silver still hadn’t shown up, he knew it to be useless. Silver was very likely with Madi, sharing her bed before they were back at sea and Flint couldn’t even be angry about the decision.

He had fucked up and he was fully responsible for what had happened. With a groan he fell into his bed, his fingers gripping the cushion his nose was buried in. It smelled of Silver, and something in his chest tightened. He was such a stupid idiot.

Sleep would likely wait to come, and yet Flint hoped he could just fall asleep and forget this awful day.

Full of self-loathing and misery Flint didn’t hear the soft thumping. Only when a shadow fell over his body he turned slightly to see Silver stand next to the bed. His body was illuminated by the candles burning low, his skin shimmering golden in the light. The black of his hair held streaks of red from the flickering flame and his blue eyes emitted insecurity. Parts of Flint wondered if he was dreaming, the rest was simply struck with awe.

“Silver,” he breathed quietly, but Silver shook his head.

“Don’t speak,” he whispered, before his fingers skittered over the buttons of his shirt, loosening one by one. It revealed his muscled chest inch by inch and every bit robbed another one of Flint’s coherent thoughts until his brain was empty.

“I’m sorry,” he added and the urge to protest rose in Flint’s chest. It had been his fault and every fiber in him screamed to end this farce. Yet, he remained silent when Silver shook his head again, his curls swishing lightly from left to right and back with the movement. Instead of speaking, Flint sat himself up, drawn towards the half-god figure before him, the Adonis carved in flesh. He ached, but suppressed it in consideration of what had happened earlier that day.

“I’m sorry I brushed you off, you meant well. Please don’t think I don’t want you.” Silver’s voice was still quiet, but his words became stronger, his gaze fixed on Flint. With the flick of his hand his shirt fell off his body, pooled around his feet.

“I want you so much. Too much,” he said and stepped one step closer. Stopped.

“But…” and suddenly his voice wavered, a shadow crossing his face.

The moment Silver looked away Flint was on his feet to cross the distance between them. His arms drew Silver in, pressed him against his chest and so close he could feel the man tremble. Burying his nose into the locks, he made shushing noises against his ear.

“It’s alright,” he murmured soothingly and fought the full-body shiver when something wet dripped on his collarbone. Silver was crying!

“I dreamt of you dying, during this hunt. Some rope slipped loose during battle and it distracted you. You looked away for only a second and,” he said, voice steady despite the flowing tears running down Flint’s skin. It was paradox just like Silver himself. “A bullet, straight through your head. I couldn’t… the crew. It was my job to secure… I can’t…”

The more Silver spoke, the less coherent it became. His voice got lost in sobbing attempts to take breath.

Unable to listen further and unwilling to let Silver drown in his maddening thoughts, Flint silenced him with a kiss. Rough and fierce, beard scratching against beard, while his fingers clawed into Silver’s neck.

“Stop,” he breathed against Silver’s lips once they let go and the gaze that bore into his eyes was sharp like a knife, yet vulnerable like a feather in the wind. “I’m not dying. I am here. I am alive. I will not die.”

“Promise!?” Silver pleaded and despite the absurdity to promise the impossible, Flint did.

“I promise!”

His breath brushed against Silver’s mouth and before he could form another word, another thought, he was attacked. Hot and heavy crashed Silver’s lips against his, bit into his lower lip and drew a moan deep from his throat. Meanwhile Silver ripped at his shirt, his breeches, all at once but only when Flint guided him he could get rid of the distracting fabric. Once Flint was naked, he lowered himself onto his back on the bed and Silver followed him, covering his body, rubbing himself against him. As if the contact was the only thing that kept him together. As if he needed the friction to breathe.

“Your leg,” Flint sighed into the wet mouth that didn’t stop to kiss him hungrily, when he felt the peg leg at his thigh. After a day like this Silver must be in pain, yet he refused to let go and take the time to discard it.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said between a kiss and a bite into his jaw. His arms were next to Flint’s head to support him, his pelvis drew circles constantly. The mass of Silver’s locks fell like a curtain around his face and hid them from the world. As if nothing else matter other than them. Flint was painfully hard, but he would have none of this.

Grabbing Silver’s upper arms, he turned them around and sat on his thighs. Below him Silver panted heavily, eyes dark with desire and chest heaving.

“Sit still,” Flint instructed, gave Silver a smile and then pulled one leg over his body to turn. With swift fingers he unbuckled the peg leg and carefully loosened if from the stump. Yet, Silver hissed when it was eased off, the sound like a knife ripping through Flint’s heart. It had been too much, and the red welts showed it. Squeezing his eyes shut, he gulped down the angry reply, before he turned again back to face Silver. Tears, this time from the searing pain, gleamed in the corners of his eyes. He brushed them away with his thump.

“Please take more care of yourself,” Flint murmured and leaned down to kiss Silver, who slung his arms around his neck. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” Silver answered against his lips and it was enough. A promise for a promise.

Biting into the tip of his nose, Flint smiled at Silver, affection visible in every fiber. He was still achingly hard, but this time he would do it right. “Will you let me do this for you? You’re still sore.”

At the nod Flint received, he pressed himself off the mattress to give Silver space to turn. Once Silver lay flat on his stomach, Flint settled back down on his thighs, cock nestled between his butt cheeks. Sliding forwards, Flint reached for Silver’s shoulders, to finally give him what they both needed, until Silver was pliant under his fingers and the only sore spot was deliberately done.


	8. Kiss me till we can't speak anymore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who makes a sound first loses :)

They both couldn’t deny any longer how they had fallen for each other. At least physically, no matter a small voice inside James’ head told him it was more. He ignored it profoundly and enjoyed the intimacy he could share with Silver. The man was willing to give it freely… and vocally.

Silver was loud. Not only during sex, but also while kissing. He whimpered, moaned, groaned and obviously enjoyed the shivers that ran down James’ spin every time he heard Silver’s pleasure. It caused _things_ to James. It made him do _things_ he hadn’t done before, not even with Thomas. _Things_ … but also sounds.

Silver may be loud, but James was equally loud. Something he hadn’t been before with another lover. Ever.

“Mmmh,” Silver groaned into his mouth, while he was stuck between the wall and James’ body. Deliciously trapped, skin pressed against skin, mouth hot over his. His tongue swept James’ mouth and a whimper escaped him, unbidden and uncontrolled. There was no helping himself.

Silver chuckled under him, never letting go of his mouth.

“I love the sounds you make,” he murmured against James’ lips, “Can’t help yourself.”

Huffing, James shoved John a little harder against the wall, hands at his hips, fingers under his shirt. There was no time for a quick fuck, not here anyway, in a secluded corner of the galley. James preferred his cabin for that, as did Silver. But stop kissing? Despite the tease James didn’t even think about it. Not when John’s curls had slipped out of his messy bun, framing his face. A face, so handsome it should be forbidden. The blue of his eyes was blown black and his lips were swollen from all the kissing.

When his hand snuck into James’ breeches and squeezed his buttocks, James’ sucked in a breath.

“John,” he groaned, trying to sound indignant but knew it wasn’t working. John just smirked.

“John, huh?” he breathed against James’ mouth, before they were back to kissing. “I like that.”

“Would you just shut up,” James groaned between pecks, trying to make his point. His hands had wandered under John’s white shirt, pushed it up to be able to caress his nipples. They went hard under his ministrations and the sighs were enough to prove John wasn’t as unaffected as he tried to fake. By now his faking didn’t work on James anymore.

“Only if you do, too,” John quirked and James bit into John’s lower lip. A challenge was a challenge and James was no one to back away.

“No groaning, moaning, sighs or whimpers. The winner decides tonight’s actions,” James replied and for a moment everything other than John’s blue eyes vanished. They gazed into each other’s eyes, and it was like their souls lay bare. Then John nodded, and James smirked.

It was like two wild animals were released from their lashes. Their mouths crashed against each other, John’s lips warm and swollen. It was like a dive into the raging sea, wild and uncontrollable. Every time James pushed, John pulled and a moment later they changed ways. If he was the tides, John was the moon.

It was hard to keep quiet. Every second made it harder. The moan stuck in his throat and wanted to bubble up. It wanted to dance tango with his whimpers, wanted to create a new life that would be a sigh. James wanted to be loud to tell everyone that John was his, and his alone, and that this time no one could stop it. That no one could tell them no, because they were pirates and did whatever the fuck they wanted.

No society, no admiralty, no one.

Closing his eyes, James drew John closer. He wanted to drown in the feeling of freedom. Wanted to drown in the possibility of them, even though he knew it would never happen. But for this moment, this spare lapse of time John was his and no one could take it from him.

And if this was love…?

Under him John whimpered, his fingers clawing into James’ chest, his stump wrapped around James’ waist. He hadn’t realized that he had bitten into John’s lip but suddenly he tasted blood. It shocked him almost as much as the thought of love.

“I’m sorry,” James panted against John’s mouth and wiped the small speck of blood away from his lower lip. The red was a stark contrast against the bright fabric of his shirt. The waver in his voice was unmistakable and suddenly James had to fight against a sob.

John however just rose a hand and brushed over James’ equally swollen lips with his thump. He smiled, and something dropped from James’ heart at the softness in his blue eyes.

“It’s okay,” he whispered and for a moment James wasn’t sure if John couldn’t read his mind. Did he know about… love? Was it okay to love? The thoughts slipped away when the familiar smirk reappeared on John’s face. “I did lose. Guess you chose.”

He did. The anxious feeling was replaced by something soaring and James smirked, kissing John one last time. A small peck, filled with more than James was ready to admit, yet.

If it was love, well, it would be okay.


End file.
